


Encore

by katesfire



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Angst, Dark, Episode: s05e10 Counterpoint, F/M, Mind Games, Obsession, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-14
Updated: 2017-06-14
Packaged: 2018-11-14 04:00:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11200020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katesfire/pseuds/katesfire
Summary: Janeway has decided to deal one final blow to Kashyk's ego.





	1. Used

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Final Note](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11189874) by [LittleObsessions](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleObsessions/pseuds/LittleObsessions). 



> This takes place around LittleObsessions’ vignette titled The Final Note and draws elements from all of the Counterpoint Vignettes thus far. I suggest you read them to better understand. http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Counterpoint
> 
> Thank you Cheile and Helen8462 for the beta and for all of the pointers and tips for revision.
> 
> Dedicated to Chris. I never knew someone who could inspire such darkness within me. For the years of emotional torture, I have to thank you. I could never write such painful angst if not for your cruelty.

_She used him._

 

Somehow, after all of these years, she expected him to understand what she needed, but he still didn't. It was agonizing. It was destructive. It was the dark passion wrought from a battle of wills for supremacy, enemy pitted against enemy entangled in a vile dance that left both parties clamoring for a shower to wash away the sinful remnants of skin against sink yet secretly, sickly satisfied and content. He had seen the horrors of the women and girls left in the wake of the Cardassian surge. He was acutely aware of the damage that could just never be healed and how it perverted all that remained. The survivors danced in night clubs and entertained in brothels, searching for some measure of absolution-- inner flames stoked by the struggle for power between a victor and a loser who was never fully divested of the spoils.

 

She had once ached for him to understand her needs, to give himself over to the carnal sins of her demons. If she was ever to defeat Kashyk on that intricate game board she had wandered into, she had to be at her best. She had to excise the demons that threatened to consume her, that wanted to prickle his lust, his blackest desires where she would find herself whoring what was left of her soul in front of her bridge crew. Kashyk had settled for putting her on display in front of his men instead, but she knew. She had revealed too much and she knew that what he really wanted was to take her in front of Chakotay. 

 

_Never._

 

What the Cardassians did all those years ago was bad enough. Owen had heard _everything_. The screams that ripped from her throat until they were nothing but rasping breaths, pleading to be given over to death as they robbed her of her innocence and reminded her that she was weak and pathetic. They defiled her, degraded her. Owen listened with the bleeding heart of a father figure in his worst hell. He tried to incite their anger, their torture to take on some of the burden and to distract them. But they weren't distracted. They laughed. She broke.

They used her until something inside of her found herself needing it. The pain somehow revitalized her and reminded her that she was still alive. It coursed through her with every stabbing penetration until found herself needing it, desiring it. She rose to the challenge as they wondered amongst themselves just how much she could take. She was empowered by the purple bruises that stained her skin, the red teeth marks that threatened to leave scars if not properly healed. She transformed from a broken, scared girl into a woman wrought from the detestable things they did to her.

 

She was hard. She was fury. She was the inferno.

 

She turned the tables on them and they left her alone. When the large Gul came in, sinking his teeth into her neck, she contorted around to release his hold on her and to grab his face. She licked his lips of her own blood until he jerked back, uncertain and practically horrified as she grinned with her lips stained ruby red and hissed the words: "Fuck me."

It wasn't fun anymore. It wasn't a mission anymore. The Gul stumbled, cursing himself in his weakness, and left her cell. Not a single one of them visited again. She was left alone until Justin rescued her. When he sought her out on the ship, he knew exactly what she had become and he knew when said "I need..." he gave. It was that simple. He would take and she would be left whimpering yet strangely calmed. 

 

After Justin, she found release in secret places where she knew she wouldn't be in jeopardy of undergoing a psych eval for having been caught. She pretended with Mark. She wanted to be normal again. She refused to allow herself to want from him. But, she also had her confidant to help her wrestle control. 

 

Even now, as she smoothed her dress uniform, preparing for the evening, she longed for Tuvok. He had melded with her early in their friendship and once he was inside of her mind, he came to understand her needs. He often played with her demons in the confines of her mind; never touching her beyond the necessity of dark fingertips pressed against the freckled alabaster of her face, yet touched her far deeper than anyone ever had before. Within those confines, he understood her needs and fed her in the only way that he could while still remaining faithful to his wife.

 

As she closed her eyes, she could find memories of her friend as his dark fingers knotted in her hair, his muscular body pressing hers down into Starfleet issue sheets while he stroked into her, his sharp teeth finding that spot just beneath her ear that even when nuzzled would send the vibrations of arousal shooting straight to her clit. And while he mind-fucked her mercilessly and expertly, there were times when she still _needed_  to physically feel; to see the purple contusions rise in contrast to her pale flesh. She _needed_  to lick her own blood from the lips of her punisher. Tuvok couldn't... _wouldn't_ give into her like that, nor would she have let him. He gave her just enough to sustain her when she was drowning. 

 

_She used him._

 

Her urgency, her demands upon Chakotay hadn't been fair. It was necessary. But he didn't understand it. He believed that if he loved her enough, he could heal what was broken inside of her.

 

Before this mission, she liked to believe that was true. She found a measure of peace with him as they adventured. The fantasy seemed to be on the verge of reality and her demons slumbered within her depths. But marriage made her weak. It made her vulnerable and she didn't like to blatantly flaunt their nuptials in the face of anyone who could possibly want to take advantage of them. It was why she took off the ring that had finally found a place on her finger most of the time. It was why she used a dermal regenerator to remove the even lighter circle against skin that colored a couple of shades darker in the sun of their adventures. 

 

She had betrayed herself again when she practically leaped at going to Devore for negotiations with Chakotay on _La Recherche_. She had a feeling that Chakotay believed it was Kashyk’s parting gift that fueled her. In reality, her demons stirred and she was propelled into action by an involuntary force. Maybe it was her desire to see Kashyk again and to repay him for the horrific gift he had left behind in their database. She loathed to think that after all of this time, she was still slave to the same twisted, dark passions that sent her straight into the arms of the type of man who would use her like a cheap whore in a brothel. It was a little of both and she hated herself for that. 

 

Kashyk knew her the moment he laid eyes on her. It was as though he could smell the dark undercurrent of arousal that emanated from her the moment he took control of her ship and invited her to her Ready Room. He was dangerous, calculating, and deceptive. But she played a better hand. She had more to lose, so she was willing to risk far more than she originally let him believe.

 

She was certain he had never heard of poker, so the phrase “poker face” would have been lost upon him-- but she had an impenetrable one. After his stint as their refugee, she called his bluff and even allowed him a gloating moment by playing the stricken failure, congratulating him on his masterful performance. He had done well. But she still had the Ace up her sleeve and she delighted when her moment arrived. Like those Cardassians, she dealt him a blow he never saw coming and Mahler was the perfect accompaniment to score her victory.

 

He was left awestruck by her composure, knowing she had tied his hands. She left with her ship, her victory, pleased with herself. She gave him exactly what he wanted and he gave into her darkest needs. There was a counterpoint if there ever was one. Want poised in melodic discord against need. Where did one end and the other begin?

But she had underestimated Kashyk. 

 

_Francesca._

 

The most perfectly vivid reminder of her sins. That is what he had left her with. Though of course, she didn’t have to keep it.

 

She never believed that _he_  would see it. When she asked him to purge the files, she never dreamed he would open it. She kept it to remind herself because, somewhere within her depths, she deserved the punishment. At least, that is what she convinced herself was the reasoning every time her finger hovered over the delete button. She should have secured it. Maybe deep down, she wanted him to see. As terrible as it was, she figured that if he saw then he would understand. But she never believed he actually would see it.

 

She wanted to believe the Admiral was wrong. She hoped that in this time line he would purge the files rather than investigating. He didn't. He saw and she was prepared for when he did. It drew him back to her when Seven broke off their relationship. It had to happen. She hated Kashyk for it and she hated the Admiral for warning her and putting her in the situation where she could have prevented it, but did nothing.

 

And yet, she wondered what became of his and the Admiral's relationship once Seven had died in the alternate time line? Did the despair of his loss mingle with the darkness within her? Did they fuck hard? Did that Chakotay finally give himself over to her needs? She never had time to ask further. She wished she could have. 

 

And now, he was suffering for this mission. He sees in shades of red and there is nothing she can give him to ease his anger. Wearing the ring would have gone a long way to alleviate his fears, but she couldn't. She didn't bother to explain, even after seeing the overturned dish that held the shiny gold band. She didn't wonder whether it was trapped beneath the dish, a prisoner of circumstance as she felt she was, or if he had discarded of it and was prepared to discard her along with it.

 

She knew better. He loved her. All of those years ago as he healed the contusions Kashyk had inflicted upon her, he loved her. After he had seethed in the shadows, watching her kiss him in the shuttle bay as she implored him to return, he had loved her. Why was the part she couldn't fathom. She was acutely aware of his needs, his suffering, yet the only thing she could offer was the wish that she could rip the memory of that recording from his mind so he didn't have to wonder what she would be doing in a few hours. 

 

_She used him._

 

She hated herself that he knew. She hated that he couldn't give himself over to what she needed. But she loved him for it. She loved him for refusing to feed her demons because it set him apart from Kashyk and always would. The moment he colored her skin purple would be the moment all hope for anything beautiful between them would die. She never wanted to look upon his face, to trace the lines of the tattoo as she smiled down at him and have his image contorted into a Cardassian or Kashyk or any of the others who had fed her needs. What they had was sacred and, despite the shadows that haunted her within, she had not been allowed to pervert it with her depraved needs. She didn't blame him for not wanting to be reconciled with the monsters that destroyed her within. All he wanted was to love her. For that, she loved him. 

 

The invitation across the galaxy and an alliance with the Devore was nothing short of Kashyk reaching across time and space to jerk her back into his realm. But, it also brought her an opportunity that would have otherwise been unrealized. Finally, she could deliver the encore that had been waiting for more than fifteen years.

 

Tonight, they would play the game, once more; only she was holding the pen and it would be her magnum opus that they scored, leaving him left forever awestruck at her mastery and fineness. Tonight was _her_ show and she knew that he would not disappoint when he rose to the occasion.

 

 

 

 


	2. White

White. 

 

It had to be white.

 

Kashyk had allowed his eyes to feast upon her as soon as she came within his sight on the night of the first reception. He ignored the fact that her crisp white and gold uniform made her look like a pompous aristocrat. The color just didn’t suit her. It was far too pure and pristine. She was anything but.

 

During the years that ensued after their first encounter, he always envisioned her in black and red. Dark. Lethal. He never trusted her not to kill him to preserve her cause. She went to great lengths to deceive him and he’d been poisoned with her ever since. He saw her in black and red, that is, if he saw her clothed at all.

 

_“He’d pity you.”_

 

Her words still haunted him, even during the times he found himself fucking a memory of her transposed over the body of another; and he wondered if her robust escort did, indeed, pity him. After all, what was to pity? He owned a piece of her darkness, her soul. It was something he highly doubted the tattooed first officer, now captain, even understood about her. Watching them move together, easily as though in concert with one another, he decided that he pitied the bronze-skinned man for not having drank her poison.

 

“ _Fuck you.”_

 

It was **not** how he anticipated the first evening would end. As he baited Chakotay while she and Kiara stepped away from the table, he had entertained visions of what he would do to her once he had her alone. Maybe he would even keep the heavy, black uniform on as he exposed her alabaster flesh, ripe to become a canvas of speckled purple and blue while he contorted her and pushed her body to the breaking point. She would quench the thirst of his demons, long parched for a taste of her.

 

His fantasy was on the verge of breaking into reality when she ordered the captain from her side. But then, she dealt him an unexpected blow when she had confirmed that she was married to the fool. Marriage was a convenience, not a problem, as he saw it. That is, until she decided to make it one and left him standing, hard and infuriated at the negotiation table. He had been under the impression that negotiations were just a formality on their face, that he already secured the prize because she _needed_ him. But, more than that, he was convinced that she _wanted_ him.

 

He was wrong.

 

He did not accept being wrong. It was the second time she had embarrassed and out maneuvered him and he **refused** to let her get away with it. And opportunity presented itself in a rather timely fashion.

 

New Varro arose from the aftermath of the breakup of their generational ship due to internal sabotage. His fury at her slight was exactly what brought him to this pathetic hovel of a settlement. Of course he had the communications to _La Recherche_ being monitored. Peace and diplomacy didn’t equate to stupidity and lack of preparedness. When he heard their destination, he arranged for his own diplomatic entourage to arrive at the planet shortly after the Federation one did. And, he had kept a low profile, observing them from a distance. Observing _her_. She played the part of the woman in love quite well as they strolled along the quaint village streets, chatting brightly with the locals. What an act she could put on. Although he knew her far too well. She was like an instrument: played sweetly, and gently and she would sing long, beautiful notes. But, placed into the hands of a master like himself; her strings could be razed to produce chords of such angst and pain that even the most adventurous enthusiast would be rapt with attention as their inner conscience bayed them to turn away, knowing such musical genius was wrought from the inferno itself, a bargain struck with a demon for such horrific talents.

 

And now, on the final night of their diplomatic reception, he watched her in his arms, sharing secret smiles. The gold band on her finger, worn now like an offensive slap in the face, caught the light and glinted in his eyes as if to blind him with her so-called delirious state of happiness. She was lying. He knew her. He understood her darkness and no matter how badly she tried to pretend that her demons weren’t screaming to be let out to play with his, he knew the truth.

 

He saw himself in his mind’s eye as he gravitated towards the pair on the dance floor, attracted by a force that was nothing short of magnetic. He was powerless to ignore her the way she eclipsed everyone else in the room. His fingers itched to define the moment when he would pluck her strings.

 

“Admiral, Captain, what a surprise that our fates aligned and here we find ourselves at a diplomatic function,” he would greet them as he interrupted their dance.

 

A smile would creep across her features, masking the suspicion that assaulted her as soon as she heard his smooth, practiced voice. “Indeed, how surprising, Ambassador, since this stop was a last minute change to our schedule.” It was true. As they had departed, they had received orders from Starfleet to make a diplomatic stop at New Varro which was just beyond Devore space.

 

He would ignore the underlying accusation and turn his attention to her _husband_. The word connected to Chakotay was undesirable even in his own head, and he couldn’t seem to bring himself to say it out loud. He wondered how it had felt for Chakotay, to look into the eyes on the man who had made his wife beg him to punish her. The notion of it eating the other man alive from within delighted him. He hoped that it was her husband who had found the gift he had left behind on Voyager. Some part instinctively knew he had seen it, particularly from the way he had behaved at the reception on Devore.

 

“Captain, I do hope you will allow me to cut in. After all, this is likely our last chance to visit for a while. That is, until I make the journey to see this Federation of yours.” He would layer on the charm, if for no other reason than to make her believe there were no hard feelings between them.

 

Chakotay would reluctantly release her into his arms as though he were symbolically giving permission for something he could only grasp at understanding. But when she nodded her consent, Chakotay would release her as he unwillingly stepped to the side of the dance floor, determined not to let them out of his sight.

 

The music would change, the tempo picking up. She would feel his power as he took her firmly in his arms, a hand tight against the small of her back, inappropriately low enough so that his fingers pressed into the curve to her ass. His other hand would find the middle of her spine between her shoulders, leaving her no option but to place her hands on his back in an uncomfortable embrace. A step to the left and they would be moving, her feet following his steps as he led them to the middle of the dance floor, surrounded by other dignitaries and honored guests.

 

“I don’t recall a diplomatic visit to Earth being on the agenda,” she might say while noticing that Chakotay was growing further from her sight. He knew her husband would not intervene unless she indicated that she was in distress and it would be his aim to get her far enough away so she couldn't summon him with a look.

 

Her tone would not escape him, her disapproval evident. Though it wouldn’t be as if her approval mattered to him. If it had, he never would have helped himself to the liberties of her charms during their first encounter. It wouldn't be hard to ascertain that she didn't want him to see her quaint little home world which would make the journey all the more appealing. “I think a change of scenery would be appropriate. It might change your disposition, Kathryn.” He might say, letting let his hand stray across the small of her back until it rested on her hip, fingers splayed across her buttock, pressing her tighter against him. His arousal would grow and he knew she would feel the length of him pressing into her belly.

 

Her eyes may then try to find Chakotay through the crowd that engulfed them on the dance floor. Vulnerability would become her as she realized he was out of sight. Marriage handicapped her. Maybe it was because now she really had too much to lose. Or, it could just be the new game she was playing, wanting him to overpower her will. It might make her feel better about submitting to him against the vows of her marriage if she could make herself believe he forced her hand, and her will. “Maybe you didn’t fully understand me the other night, Kashyk…”

 

He would silence her as his hand between her shoulders swiftly moved to her hair and jerked her head back, his head lowering so that his breath was hot on her neck, his lips hovering just beneath her ear. “I don’t think you understand who is really in control here, Kathryn. This has all been a grand illusion just for you. You may have gotten exactly what you wanted, but I only play the game I _know_ I can win. You _need_ me.”

 

She'd jerk from his grasp, stumbling backwards; nearly knocking into several of the other dancers. Despite the fire in his eyes, the determination set in his jaw, she would refuse to run from him. She would not be his prey. 

 

Every time he believed he had the upper hand, she always managed to come out on top, only this time her innovations would be running thin and he knew it. She thought she had delivered the final blow when she had left him standing at the signing table. He had warned her she would regret what she had done. 

 

His words at their prior encounter would converge in her mind as she tried to wring the meaning from them while wondering if she had led the Federation right into a trap. His words would deafen her, echoing within her head, nearly drowning out the opening chords for Francesca di Rimini as they sounded from the orchestra and he advanced upon her.

            

She would continue to resist him, he knew. The game would continue because it was how she desired it to be. Maybe she would always have that edge. But he would not submit to her fully. Once they were alone, she would beg him to fuck her again. “You have nothing that I need, Kashyk,” her words, stronger than she felt within all while longing to turn on her heel and storm through the crowd. He knew her well enough to know she wouldn't dare show him her back. She would stand her ground.

 

He would encircle her within his arms again, this time, his fingertips pressing bruises in her spine. “Liar,” he'd hiss, spinning her away from the center and towards the opposite end of the dance floor where Chakotay had last been seen. “Now, I think we were on the point of discussing _your_ needs?”

 

“Or your obsession?”

 

She would pay for that bit of truth. “Your tongue betrays you, Kathryn. I think I have you cornered. Your surrender is going to be a delightful thing. But first, some privacy is in order. My suite is just off the ball room,” he'd say, leading her to the edge of the dance floor.

 

Oh and things he would do to her were he to take her to his suite. Things he knew she wanted. Things her body and inflections virtually screamed for him to inflict upon her.

 

Coming out of his musings, he watched her with dark-eyed determination as she disengaged from her husband's arms as the musicians signaled that they would take a short break. Francesca di Rimini was up next. He hoped they stuck around for it, but he knew they would miss it. She didn't part from Chakotay's side, his arm wrapped comfortably around her; they remained nearly attached at the hip as she shared a smile with their hosts then presumably thanked them for their graciousness. 

 

He followed them, obscured in the crowd as they walked to the transport coordinates nearby. He was an opportunist and knew if one was presented, he would claim her in the blink of an eye. He would repay her for her slight, her denial. 

 

And then she saw him.

 

Before she could call him out, the transporter beam engulfed her, snatching her from his view, but not before he exchanged a dark, searing glare with her look of surprise at his presence in the crowd. 

 

As he stared at the spot where she disappeared from view he vowed to himself that one day, their paths _would_ cross again. One day.


End file.
